a place to breathe
by gameboycolor
Summary: He asks Kurt to share that stupid cupid cookie with him because he knows he'll eat it all himself given the chance. In return, Kurt looks at him with those wide eyes like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.  warning: eating disorders
1. a place where I can breathe

When Blaine feels like he's losing control, he counts. Calories are the easiest things to track. The have a direct impact on the way he looks, the way he feels. He keeps a mental catalog of his caloric consumption, enjoying the sick satisfaction that comes with a low number at the end of the day.

Kurt and their little coffee dates were becoming an issue for him. He enjoys the company and their conversations, of course, but he isn't quite sure how many calories are in that nibble of biscotti.

The other boy teases him when he sees him glaring at the treat and asks what the biscotti had done to displease him, and Blaine groans internally. If he only knew the half of it.

He won't, of course. Blaine vows to never let the newest Warbler see that side of him.

He asks Kurt to share that stupid cupid cookie with him because he knows he'll eat it all himself given the chance. In return, Kurt looks at him with those wide eyes like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

A few days later, they're in the same exact spot, except this time, Kurt confessing his feelings and Blaine's pretty much knocked on his ass. He hasn't even begun to consider the extent of his feelings for Kurt, and he can't pretend it has anything to do with junior managers from the Gap.

"I really, really care about you."

That, he's sure of.

"And I don't want to mess this up."

Because if Kurt sees the real him, flaws and all, he'll take off running in the other direction. That, Blaine is also sure of.

The only person he knows at Rachel's party is Kurt, so he sticks close. Sure, he's friendly with the rest of Kurt's old glee club, but that doesn't mean he feels any more comfortable.

People keep passing him drinks and he loses track of the ever present number in his mind. There's an awkward moment where Kurt catches him fumbling with his Blackberry and trying to google the amount of calories in a screwdriver.

"Depends on the type of orange juice," Kurt says, leaning his head on Blaine's shoulder to get a better look at his phone.

Blaine starts to wonder if they have more in common than he initially thought.

The next day, he wakes up with a hangover. He tries to piece together the previous night, but he keeps getting distracted by the ongoing drumming in his head. Kurt's looking at him with this concerned glance and it makes his stomach churn for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.

He says nothing, instead taking a seat beside Blaine on the bed and wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

His fingers overlap.

Somehow an argument in the coffee shop takes a vile turn.

"You don't even know how to take care of yourself, Blaine. Questions of sexuality aside, it's not right to lead Rachel on when you're clearly not in a place to enter a relationship," Kurt scoffs. Even the way he holds his coffee cup is condescending.

"Yeah, well you're one to talk," Blaine shoots back.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" Kurt says, leaning over the table to Blaine can feel the full brunt of his glare.

"I know how you operate. You're no different than me," Blaine says, feeling pleased. He has evaded the topic of his own issues, and shifted the blame.

"Don't you dare try to compare me to you," Kurt hisses, not breaking his stare. "You are just a scared little boy who is too busy being concerned about the image he presents to the world, and not just physically. You're fake, Blaine." He gets up and out of his chair, looking down at Blaine with disappointment shining in his eyes.

In the end, he politely declines Rachel's invitation to the revival theater.

Blaine knows the judges at Regionals probably aren't looking for sex appeal. Regardless of that fact, he sees the performance at the warehouse as a fun distraction. Something to shake things up from the usual Warbler shuffle. A break from the dull, repetitive rehearsals they had been powering through day in and day out. Plus, the rest of the guys usually seem to be in better spirits after their various mixers with the Crawford girls, so really his suggestion of performing for their sister school is simply a favor for his fellow classmates.

And yes, he really did just use the phrase 'bobby socks' in a sentence.

The air starts to feel heavier throughout the duration of the song. He knows he sounds flat, he's not deaf. His feet are unsteady, and it has to be because he hasn't broken in his new shoes yet. There's no other explanation for it.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's not much of a dancer, aside from the Warbler shuffle. The unfamiliar exertion has him feeling it from his fingers to his toes.

Whatever the reason is, a few seconds later his world goes black.

When he comes to, the music has stopped. He sees Kurt's face hovering over him, but everything sounds muffled. He can almost make out Kurt barking an order at Trent, and he must be because Trent runs off with his phone in hand without so much as a complaint.

It's such a cliche, but his coiffed locks make him look like an angel. A very pissed off angel.

"You're an idiot, Blaine," he mutters as he presses a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. "A first class idiot."

They don't talk about it after that. Blaine knows things like this usually call for an awkward confrontation and a half, but the Warblers have always been excellent at sweeping things under the proverbial rug.

"I trust you're feeling up to performing at Regionals?" Wes asks, shuffling a few papers on the council desk.

Of course not, Blaine wants to say. Instead, he smiles. "Just try and stop me."

"While your enthusiasm is appreciated, a simple yes would have sufficed."

It's a new day. The number in his head resets and life goes on.


	2. there's a tangled thread inside his head

He spends a lot of time trying to understand Blaine. Kurt himself is no stranger to calorie consciousness, but that doesn't mean he grasps the level his friend has taken things to. He wonders what Blaine sees when he looks in the mirror.

Because there's no way he's seeing anything close to the truth.

There are several reasons Kurt finds himself feeling mildly annoyed when asked for his opinion on the Warblers' impromptu performance of 'Misery.' Most of these reasons involve the fact that the post-performance chats are the closest they've been to having an actual conversation in _weeks_. He knows he's supposed to be disarmed by _that smile_ and the way he seems to be singing to him like he's the only person in the room, but he still feels the unmistakable prick of _annoyance_ in his chest.

"So, what did you think?" he asks, his smile resembling something hopeful and bright.

"It was.. fine, Blaine," he replies dismissively, covering up Pavarotti's cage. There is an exchange involving Burberry-esque cage covers and Kurt worries that their once meaningful conversations will be reduced to superficial pleasantries forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to _stop_. He wants Blaine to talk to him. He wants Blaine to _feel_ like he can talk to him.

He worries he ruined any chance of _that_ ever happening that day in the coffee shop.

When Pavarotti dies, Kurt starts to wonder if he's cursed. Every living thing around him seems to have fallen to an ailment at _some_ point in time.

Or maybe the canary is some sort of schoolboy prank. Give the new kid an ancient, dying bird and tell them their voice depends on whether or not the bird thrives in their care.

Jeff confirms it. Pavarotti was seven years old.

He still can't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault.

Singing for Pavarotti is the first thing he has done that was exclusively for himself in a very long time. He's not trying to impress his classmates, or _Blaine_ for once.

He doesn't miss the twinkle in Mercedes's eye when he recruits her assistance in picking out a proper mourning outfit. She knows it has nothing to do with her fashion input, just that he wants someone _there_.

He just wants someone there.

Just like Blaine had.

And oh _god_, he has never felt so stupid in his life. Attacking someone who needed his help. Blaine was looking for a listening ear and all he did in turn was _scream_ in his. Because that's what he does when he sees the people around him not taking care of themselves. Whether it's his dad's _vile_ penchant for slim jims and soda or the way Blaine toys with his food during lunch, rearranging the plate to look like he has made more of a dent in it than he actually _has_ - Kurt never knows how to deal with it. So he snaps. He's loud.

He's used having to be loud to be heard.

Kurt can't ignore the way Blaine's been looking at him for the past few days. There's a sort of veiled wonderment dancing behind his eyes, brighter than he's seen them in months.

He doesn't know what he's expecting when Blaine finds him in the breakfast room, where he is presently hard at work on Pavarotti's coffin. He hasn't has an excuse to pull out glitter glue in _ages_, and a funeral for a bird is as good as any.

"They're giving the solo to you at the next meeting, and you're going to say yes," he starts, more focused on the rhinestones scattered across the tables than _him_.

"And what makes you think I'll say yes?" he replies, raising a brow. Blaine finally looks up at him with a crooked smile, as if to say '_really_?' Because this is _Kurt_ he's dealing with. "You're right. But I'm not singing that godawful Pink medley. Her songs do _nothing_ to showcase my range."

"I'm sure you can sway the council if you try hard enough. It wouldn't be the first time you've gotten someone to see things in a different light," he chuckles, gaze falling to the table once again. There's a silence - it's not comfortable, exactly, but it's not unbearable either. "You were right, you know. About..."

For once, Kurt doesn't jump to his feet to scoff something along the lines of 'of course I was right.' He just listens.

"I'm not.. okay," he says slowly. It's not the outright confession Kurt had been hoping for, but it's a good start. He takes Blaine hand, giving it a small squeeze as encouragement to continue. "You're so brave, Kurt. I admire you so much. I mean, it's _more_ than that, of course, but I don't think I can really handle that right now." And Kurt gets that. He can't lie to himself. It's disappointing.

But he gets it.

"You make everything brighter."

His heart stutters. He thinks of private smiles and scribbling notes in the margins of their textbooks to each other. The things that have been, the things that could _be_ if it weren't for the foreboding tone of their current conversation.

"I'm getting help. I can't.. do this on my own anymore. I haven't been able to for awhile, actually." Kurt already knew that, but he nods anyway. "But I'm not doing this for you," he says, his voice breaking. "I'm doing this for _me_."

It's good. It's great, even. Kurt doesn't know if he can take the pressure of being the sole reason for Blaine to choose recovery over the mess he's gotten himself into. He knows it's selfish, but he feels _relieved_.

He also knows there's no magical solution to Blaine's problems. No sleeping beauty kiss will pull him out of the prison of his mind. This is something he has to do on his own.

"I'm glad, Blaine," he smiles, curling his fingers around the other boy's hand. He needs to let him know he's there, and he'll still be there when he's ready. "You're braver than you think, you know."

"I hope so."


	3. so i breed thicker skin

Blaine finishes the rest of his junior year through correspondence. There are therapists and nutritionists and talking. So much talking. Too much talking. He fills the sessions with anecdotes from his day to day life back at Dalton. Nothing serious. He's not ready to deal with anything serious quite yet.

Besides, he's always been good at throwing people off of his trail.

He's not scared of the weight. In fact, he finds a new thrill in the way he seems to have more energy with each passing week. The color is slowly returning to his cheeks. He starts to think that he has beat this. The monsters in his mind never stood a chance.

It feels like life back at Dalton is stuck on fast-forward. He hears bits and pieces of it from Kurt via texts and emails. Sometimes it's easier to focus on the frivolous drama rather than the uphill climb that has become his reality.

He's in the waiting room at his therapist's office when the Regionals results start pouring in. Guilt gnaws at his chest. Would they have won if he had stayed?

In the end, he decides 'what ifs' aren't worth his time.

Less than two months in, he relapses. It's a harsh tumble back to the bottom. The cool porcelain soothes the flush of shame he feels spreading through his limbs.

Much to Blaine's despise, recovery means dealing with the issues behind his problems with food. It's not as simple as a number on a scale.

He's learning that recovery is about the good days outnumbering the bad ones. It's not going to happen overnight, but it's going to happen eventually. There will be no crowning moment, only a point in time where he looks back only to find that things are better than they were before.

Kurt transfers back to McKinley towards the end of April. He worries day and night, but he has been assured that the halls of McKinley are as safe as they're ever going to be. The thought is still less than comforting, but he's not in a position to argue. Instead, he smiles at the grainy, cell phone quality video of 'As If We Never Said Goodbye.'

Everyone has their own demons to face. McKinley is Kurt's.

He can't control his sexuality, nor can he control his parent's feelings about it. Samantha and Johnathan Anderson are stuck in their ways, but not for the reasons one might think. They were raised in a different time. It's taken him years to figure out that their concerns can be traced back to wanting an easier life for him. They were the ones waiting by his hospital bed after the Sadie Hawkins dance. They've seen how cruel ignorance can make the outside world. So when they tell Blaine to quiet down, it's a matter of his safety.

He doesn't agree, he'll _never_ agree, but knowing the truth behind their reasons is a step in the right direction.

When they meet at the Lima Bean after Nationals, Blaine can hardly take his eyes off of him. The months apart, despite the fact that they had been filled with correspondence, don't match up to the real thing. Kurt is all sparkling eyes and hand gestures as he talks about his time in New York.

_I love you_.

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't know how welcome they would be. He loves the way Kurt calls him out when no one else will, he loves the way Kurt saw him when no one else did. He loves this boy and he can only hope that someday he will be ready for more than this beautiful friendship they stumbled into.

"Are you even listening to me, dummy?"

He smiles. "Sorry, got lost for a moment there."

"I thought as much. Wake up, Blaine Warbler. We haven't even _gotten_ to Santana's meltdown," he says, his eyes still just as bright as before.

Blaine loves the way he treats him the same, even when everyone else is walking on eggshells.

He's learning a new kind of control, one that involves taking care of his body and soul. Restricting isn't going to change his world. He has to change it for himself.

It's almost ironic. He's been trying to gain control for years and _this_ is the first time in his life that he feels like he's starting to get a grip on things. It's not easy, by any means. There are bad days and there are even worse days.

But when he has those good days?

It's worth it.


	4. feel what it's like to be new

Somewhere amidst the sticky heat of the summer before their senior year, they grow closer. Closer than they were in the part of Blaine's life he refers to as 'before.'

* * *

><p>The hugs are Blaine's favorite part. He's not sure if it has to do with how damn jumpy Kurt used to be, but he's never hugged him like this before. Like he's not afraid to step into his personal bubble and just hold him for awhile. It's nice.<p>

One day, he finally asks him about it. What changed? Before, he would squirm out of Blaine's grasp like he was uncomfortable or something. But now, he has no problem throwing his arms around Blaine and tugging him close.

"I was afraid that I was going to break you," he admits quietly, looking a little embarrassed as he does so. "When you didn't have your blazer on... I could feel your bones, Blaine. It scared me. I didn't like being reminded of how fragile you were when I needed you to be strong. It's selfish, I know..."

Blaine doesn't think it is. He knows that initially, he presented himself to Kurt in a manner that hadn't exactly been the truth. Like he was someone to be relied on, like he had all of the answers. Time had peeled away the layers only to show that he was just as lost as any other seventeen year old kid, maybe even more so.

"It's not selfish," he tells him. "It's not selfish at all."

* * *

><p>Kurt never asked him to transfer. He has never even hinted at it. Sure, he mentions once or twice that he's going to miss him when school starts up. They have been spoiled by having an excess amount of time together over the summer break and the first school bell is threatening to tear them apart once again.<p>

But Kurt never asked him to transfer, and that is why his eyebrows fly clear to his hairline when Blaine makes the announcement over coffee two weeks into the school year.

"But, why?" Kurt asks, still looking at Blaine as if he's sprouted a second head.

He had rehearsed this whole speech about 'facing your fears and 'embodying' courage, but all he can do is blurt out - "I need a fresh start."

Going back to Dalton hadn't been as comforting as he had originally thought it would be. There are whispers behind his back speculating the nature of where Blaine spent the final quarter of his junior year.

His favorite version involves him getting kicked out for running a drug den out of his dorm room.

Dalton is the place where he allowed himself to obsess, where he could count every calorie when his world seemed to be falling apart only to turn around and hide behind a smile and a blazer.

He has to leave.

"Alright," Kurt smiles, still bewildered at the news. He reaches of Blaine's hand and tangles their fingers together. "We'll do this together."

* * *

><p>There's a line, Blaine reminds himself as Kurt adjusts his bowtie. He's leaning in too close. He can smell his cologne. He's everywhere.<p>

He tries not to protest the loss of contact as Kurt steps away to access his masterpiece. "There," he smiles, "You're perfect."

And for once, Blaine doesn't try to disagree.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he joined the New Directions, but it definitely wasn't this. He barely has both feet in the door before Finn's commenting on his failed courtyard performance. He hadn't thought it was a failure originally, but it's kind of hard to ignore the casualty when it's sitting in the center of the room in its charred and purple glory.<p>

Blaine wonders how many of them agree with Finn as takes his seat in the back of the choir room with Kurt.

* * *

><p>Santana grabs the back of his collar so fast that he doesn't know what's happening until she's basically screaming in his face. Some of the words aren't even in <em>English<em>. He doesn't know how he's expected to follow.

When she finally slows down, he doesn't like what he hears.

"With you, everyone's all 'oh, poor Blaine! Let's all feel sorry for Blaine!' With me? I'm a goddamned punchline. Someone's puking? Must be Santana. And lord knows she hasn't had a solid meal since junior high."

"Santana, what are you...?"

"You and Kurt aren't exactly quiet, you know," she smirks, pleased with the double entendre. "Everyone knows." She crosses her arms, and looks him over for a moment. "It's not going to make him want you, you know."

"It's not about that."

"Of course it is. Let me drop some knowledge on you, pretty boy. No one does these things just for themselves. Do you think I got my tits done so I could feel better during swimsuit season? Hells no. It was to give McKinley High something to look at besides Berry's grandma sweaters. I had it before, but now I _gots_ it." She smirks, raising a hand to cup Blaine's cheek and look him over a second time, considering. "You want him. Admit it."

"He's a friend." He feels hot under the collar. He needs to get away from her.

"The friend zone is for uggos and fat chicks, and you, pretty, are neither." Pause. "Unless you keep up with the whole fat farm thing or whatever. Oh, _I'm sorry_, support group. Do y'all cry over Lifetimes movies up in there or what?"

"I don't have to listen to this." He decides, repeating it in his head like a mantra. "I get that you're not happy, but you don't have to drag me down with you." Bile rises in his throat, he prefers to look at the ground instead of her.

She withdraws her hand, but not before giving his cheek a light pat. "Good chat, junky trunk." Her smile is sickeningly sweet. "See you around."

Kurt looks too pleased to see Blaine fitting in with the rest of the New Directions for him to fess up to what had actually happened between them. Instead he just smiles and tells Kurt that she's 'an interesting girl.'

That much is true.


End file.
